The Wanderers Curse.

I still love you.

I love you as much as my gypsy heart will allow. Terrified of being pinned down, terrified of losing adventure. I can’t stand still. I can never stand still. It brings me as much grief as it does joy. I run from anything that feels like chains, anything that might be permanent, but do not think there is not love there.

I wish we were on a beach together, climbing mountains together, or simply having a whirlwind discussion about something meaningful and irrelevant.

You are always with me. Day in, day out. I thought I had escaped only to find you lodged inside of me, a part of me- like a glass sliver in my eye.

I can never shed enough tears to wash it out.

This is why I run, this is why I honor my solitude. I have been called a force of nature. Like a force of nature, I leave destruction in my wake.

I cannot heal.

I can, but mother.

A parent’s torture, to watch the pain unable to stop it.

I want to fly, but not away. I want to soar. I’m looking not leaving, but always lingering where I’ve left.

There are so many things I cannot say.

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